


Happy Easter

by Not_You



Series: Dreamhouse [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Easter, Easter Egg Hunt, Established Relationship, Ham - Freeform, Holidays, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Roman Catholicism, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i'm glad that tag exists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 'Merry Christmas,' Phil warned Clint that he would be expected at the Coulson family Easter celebrations.  The time has come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint is kind of fuzzy on what constitutes a panic attack, but he does feel a little bit like he did when he got out of the hole that last time. Disconnected and jangly and dazzled, elated and terrifed at the same time. He stands by the bed and stares down at his open overnight bag without seeing it. He's going to meet Phil's family. Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house, and Clint is pretty fucking sure that he is having some kind of attack, and sits down on the floor to take a few deep breaths. Of course, the most obviously fucked up point is the one where Phil walks in.

“Clint, have you-- Are you all right?”

“...Uh, no? Sam is always telling me to like, own my emotions and shit.”

“Okay.” Phil sits down beside him. “What is it?”

“I'm just...” he pauses, and Phil puts his arm around him, holding him close and making him feel a little better. “I'm totally freaking out about meeting your parents. And everyone else.”

“Clint. Whatever they think, it doesn't matter. You're the one I want.”

Clint can feel himself blushing at Phil's words. “Good,” he mutters, hiding his face in Phil's chest.

“Also, you own my ass for three days after we get back. It's only fair.”

“Aw, Daddy. You give me the sweetest gifts.”

Phil laughs, kissing Clint's forehead. “I try, baby boy.”

Once they're finally packed, it's a short flight to Phil's old stomping grounds, the WASPy little town of Clarion's Bridge. Clint kind of wishes they had driven, but with the usual fuckups and malfunctions they hadn't had the time to leave early enough for that, so he has to go from safe at home to meeting a relative in three hours. As they head out into actual fresh fucking air (seriously, Clint hates air travel with the burning passion of a thousand thousand fiery suns) Phil takes his hand and squeezes it, their neat little roll-on bags trailing behind them like square dogs.

“You'll be fine,” he says, and Clint wants to believe him.

“...You're not gonna be pissed if I'm not, right?”

“No, sweetheart,” Phil says softly, and then waves as a red PT Cruiser pulls up. Clint has been briefed, he knows to expect the sister, that her name is Eleanor and that she goes by Nory, pronounced like the sushi seaweed. Three years younger, bossy but usually right, mother of the devastatingly cute niece and nephew whose pictures Phil had shown him long before this point. She looks like Phil, with the same clear blue eyes and the same sweet smile. She's not as neat, but there's the same sense of comfortable quality about her clothes as there is about Phil's. She hugs her brother tightly and then turns and engulfs Clint without warning.

"It's so nice to finally meet you!"

"Likewise," he says, and might even mean it. She smells like some kind of old-fashioned flower perfume, but not in a grandma way. It's nice, and her sweater is very soft. She smiles up at him when she pulls away. "Should I feed you guys?"

"Please," Clint says. "They gave us some kind of fu-- some kind of kale salad with lentils and it was awful. I'm only alive because of pretzels and soda."

Nory laughs, and tells them their options as they load their bags and then climb in, Phil riding shotgun and Clint in the back because he has never been here and can be no practical help with navigation. It makes him feel like a kid, and he can't tell if that's in a good, bad, or sexy way, so he just relaxes and listens to Phil and Nory talk. Normal family stuff, about graduations and weddings, not who's in jail and whose boyfriend beat the shit out of her. Apparently the kids are getting old enough that Uncle Phil is no longer a major celebrity, but they're still looking forward to seeing him.

"And to meeting you, Clint!" she calls, to be heard in the back.

"Should I be worried?"

"Maybe a little, but Emily has started to worry about Phil being lonely, and James says homophobia is deeply uncool. Don't worry, I'll protect you." Clint can't help but feel a little better even though she's joking, and Phil reaches back to squeeze his hand. Clint squeezes back, and takes a deep breath as they turn off the main road. "Nearly there," Nory says. "The house was built in... 1915?"

"Completed then," Phil says, "started in 1912."

"Anyway, it's an enormous old barn but it comes in handy at times like this."

"You guys will keep me from embarrassing us at church, right?" Clint is freaking out a little about the Easter mass tomorrow, and Phil smiles at him.

"Yeah, we will," he says. They're on a narrow, gravel drive, now, and it snakes its way up a forested hill. It's pretty country, and Clint tries to appreciate it.

"Okay."

"It's not too complicated," Nory adds, taking a last sharp curve to reach an actual driveway that winds up to the big house on the very top of the hill. It really does look old, sided with wood gone silver with years. Most of the many windows are dark, but there are a few on the first and second floor that glow golden in the lowering night, and a small fleet of cars out front. Nice cars, of course, but not so nice Clint can feel comforting contempt. When they stop and get out, Clint tries not to hunch his shoulders and hide in his leather jacket like the juvenile delinquent he used to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil puts his arm around Clint to brace him a bit, and Nory opens the door. James and Emily come bounding up, but don't latch onto him like they used to. At twelve and ten respectively, they feel their maturity acutely, though Emily does dive in for a real hug. She smells like some kind of little-girl perfume, all artificial strawberries and sweet flowers.

"Hi, Uncle Phil." She still has a shy little voice, but she speaks more clearly now, and meets his eyes more easily.

"Hi, Emily." He smiles down at her. "You're growing so fast." He looks to James, still smiling. "You too, kiddo." James is of course far too cool for hugs, but he favors Phil with a fistbump.

"Is this Clint?" Emily asks, looking past Phil to Clint and her mother.

"Yeah, this is Clint. And he's hungry, so let's go feed him."

They leave bags and coats and shoes in the foyer, and make their quiet way into the kitchen, while Nory murmurs to Clint about the cousins who drove sixteen hours to get here, Grandmother, Mother, Father, and another family of cousins with a new baby. "So you see why we have to be quiet," she says, "but there are plenty of leftovers and your room is all made up."

Emily yawns hugely, and settles at the table. Nory waves for Phil and Clint to do the same, and James sets out utensils before joining his sister as Nory microwaves various containers and then serves everyone some macaroni and cheese, scraps of roast chicken, and fresh Brussels sprouts because she is the mother of two growing children and has Views about always having a vegetable. Clint hates Brussels sprouts, but shovels them down with the obedience of a model institution inmate.

"We've put you in Dad's old room," Nory says, and then smiles at Clint. "It has a beautiful view, and the closet is clear enough for you to hang up your good clothes."

"Thanks," Clint says softly. He doesn't say anything else as Phil catches up with his niblings and his sister. Her husband Chris is one of the myriad sleepers upstairs, since he didn't let her take enough shifts driving, so Phil will see him at breakfast tomorrow. He shakes his head fondly, because Chris has always been that kind of idiot.

Once everything is cleared away, Clint picks up both their bags and follows Phil upstairs, almost tiptoeing. He's not as tense as he was before, but still far from easy, and Phil hugs him tightly once the door is shut behind them. Clint clings a little, bags sitting at their feet. "Did I do okay?" he asks, so worried it makes Phil's heart ache.

"Baby," he says, rubbing Clint's back, "baby, you're fine the way you are. I love you and I'm proud of you, okay?"

"Okay," Clint mutters, hiding his face in Phil's shoulder. They stand there like that for a while, and then part to hang up their good clothes and shuffle two doors down to brush their teeth. Phil crawls into bed first, curling up on chilly sheets that will soon warm with body heat, and kept that way by a few quilts and the massive blue comforter that has been in the family as long as Phil can remember. Clint joins him a minute later and snuggles in against his chest. They're both wearing pajama bottoms in the interests of decorum, but otherwise they're skin to skin like they would be at home, and he can feel it soothing Clint.

"Sweetheart," he says softly, "you're going to be fine. They're going to like you, and even if they didn't, they couldn't talk me out of you. So relax."

"Okay." He kisses Phil's chest and then sighs, arranging himself to sleep. Phil holds him and breathes with him, hoping the service won't bother him too much. Grandmother and Mother attend Easter Vigil, Father dragged along as chauffeur and escort, but they won't have to make it to church until half-past eight. He yawns, and listens to the creaking of an ancient house and Clint's soft breathing.

They wake to the smell of ham, of course. Grandmother starts it when she gets back from the Vigil, and then creaks off to bed take another nap. By a quarter past seven the whole house is full of the delicious, savory-sweet smell.

"Holy shit," Clint mumbles, "you were right about the ham."

"She's a foaming sexist and won't teach me, but I know molasses and dried apricots are involved."

"So what's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes because they're easy. Don't worry, we'll be able to load up at brunch."

They go down to the dining room wearing the bottom half of their Easter ensembles with old t-shirts, a survival trick Phil has developed in his decades of wearing suits. There's no sense in risking their good shirts and ties before they even leave the house. Emily is swathed to the neck in a blanket to protect the frothy white confection she's wearing, and James isn't even dressed yet. Phil's cousin Susan is still in her robe, because she and tiny little Angel May are staying home, and Clint really doesn't stand out, save for being too obviously attractive to be a Coulson. Phil introduces him to everyone, sure that it's all a blur and prepared to refresh his memory later. Phil's parents and Grandmother stand out, of course.

Mother is fully dressed in her little blue-grey suit with the pearl buttons, but even she has her white gloves tucked into her breast pocket for safekeeping. Cousin Jane is the chef this year, standing at the enormous old griddle and flipping the little silver dollar pancakes that Grandmother _has_ taught Phil to make, and Father is setting out Grandmother's various syrups, which include things from the farmer's market made of rosehips and other wild ingredients. Clint visibly pales, but he hunkers down so Grandmother can see him, and waits for her to extend her wasted little claw for their handshake, like a real gentleman.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint just tries to keep breathing. These are Phil's actual fucking parents, his actual fucking _grandmother_ , and Clint is kind of expecting to be struck by lightning. Right on his appallingly visible tattoos, maybe, or conducting through one of the bars through his nipples. At least Grandmother Fields can't see _that_. She's a hundred and three, a tiny little apple head doll in a wheelchair, but she squints at Clint with sharp blue eyes that are still full of personality, and pats his hand with what must have been a tiny hand even before arthritis shrank it. She's wearing a pastel yellow dress and an enormous but still tasteful Easter bonnet with white daisies on it, and she's somewhere between imposing and adorable. Clint is pretty sure she will find a way to end him if she doesn't like him.

"You do seem like a nice boy," she creaks, and introduces him to her daughter and son-in-law, Grace and Paul Coulson. They look just like the pictures Phil has shown him, and just like he would have expected anyway, all gentle and respectable and impeccably dressed. He shakes their hands and thanks them for having him and then flees to hide behind a stack of pancakes. The pancakes are great, and so is the rose hip syrup he puts on them because it's the closest bottle. He can feel the various cousins eying him, but Nory sits near him and tells him about the church and how gorgeous it always looks for Easter, and James assures him that it's not _too_ boring.

Clint grins at this. "Thanks, man. I was a little worried."

After everyone has enough pancakes in their system to survive the service, Phil takes Clint back upstairs to get him into the rest of his new suit and help him with his tie. Guys like Clint are supposed to have one suit and use it for funerals, but so far all the funerals Clint has been to were before he got his full growth or for overdosed punks who would lay a ghostly curse on any suit in attendance. So this isn't a funeral suit. It's light grey, with tiny, invisible fucking stripes of purple because Clint likes purple. Altogether it's just grey, but a nice, somehow purple-informed grey, and the purple tie looks like it goes with it, instead of totally preposterous. The whole thing fits like it was made for him (because it was) and he almost doesn't recognize himself in the mirror.

Phil smiles. "There. You look great."

"So do you," Clint says, because he does. He's in deep blue, a marked departure from Mr. Coulson's uniform. Clint tugs Phil's collar crooked for the pleasure of straightening it again, and kisses him softly. "You said this church was okay about the gay, right?"

"When I came out to my parents, Grandmother went right down to ask about it. One of the first things she thought of, bless her heart. I think it kind of depresses her that I don't take communion anymore, but she doesn't complain."

Clint smiles. "One of these wild, godless youngsters of today, huh?"

Phil just chuckles, and takes Clint's hand. "Yeah. Come on."

They're driving with Nory and family again. Her husband is a tall, quiet man with red hair, who glares at the road ahead as if it has personally insulted him. Emily leans over and tells Clint that her dad always wants to drive, no matter how tired he is. James adds that it's because he doesn't trust Mom, and Nory rolls her eyes

"Hit one mailbox and you never hear the end of it!"

The church actually does turn out to be pretty gorgeous. The weather is, too, so they can all wait in the parking lot for everyone else to show up. The cousins and a few uncles and aunts arrive, and then Grandmother Fields and Phil's parents. At least now Clint can be useful. Phil's dad is happy to stand aside and let someone with a stronger back haul out the wheelchair. It's actually pretty light, but has gotten itself wedged in a weird way that takes some tugging to unstick. Just when Clint is starting to worry about his good clothes, it pops free and Phil's dad thanks him and takes over. Clint shuffles back to Phil, face going a little warm when Phil takes his hand.

"Come on, love," he says, and everyone files into the church. Sure enough, there are beautiful statues and fresh lilies and even stained glass. There's a hymnal and a missal to pick up on the way in, just as Phil said there would be. With him close by, Clint isn't as nervous. He knows how to sit down and shut up when he has to, and Phil helps him find the right lines in the hymnal as well as sitting and standing and saying 'amen' at the right times.

As far as Clint can judge these things, even the sermon is pretty good. It's all about Abraham and Isaac, and how God felt the same love for Jesus but had to allow humanity to torture and kill Him for real and everyone should appreciate that and their own loved ones. Clint can get behind any religious observance that reminds people to be good to those around them, and really means it when he shakes hands first with Phil and then with Emily, murmuring, "Peace be with you," along with everyone else. Apparently only real Catholics get to eat real Jesus, but Clint gets up and joins the line for communion with the others, because Phil has said that old Father Louis will want to bless them, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil is pleased to see Clint making the X over his chest with his forearms just the way Phil showed him. Father Louis is used to Phil's waywardness, and is clearly unsurprised that he has brought another sinner with him. He blesses Clint with his long, elegant, liver-spotted hands, and after the service he lurks by the door to wish everyone a happy Easter. He asks Phil about the show and assures him that his grandnieces love it, and thanks Clint for visiting and Grandmother for her devotion. He really is one of the good ones, with a kind word for everyone in his flock.

Clint is still glad to escape, of course, and lets out a sigh of relief in the car, so obviously that the kids laugh. He just joins in, and loosens his tie a little. They're quite crammed in here, especially with Emily's frothy white skirt, and it's a relief to pile out again. Susan and the baby are in good spirits, and she has been basting the ham this entire time.

"Look," she says, "I even got dressed! You guys are on your own for the egg hunt, though."

While the children change into clothes they can play in, every adult who isn't putting brunch together or helping their tiny child with its buttons is drafted to hide eggs. There's a big bowl of dyed real eggs in the fridge, and Mother has filled half again as many plastic ones with candy, as well as making each child a little Easter basket, because Mother is amazing. He tells her so, and she just smiles.

As Phil might have expected, Clint is actually too good at hiding eggs. The areas he can think of and reach are ridiculous, but Phil does let him hide a few in a tree, since James at least can definitely reach them. "I can't believe you got up there without ruining your trousers," Phil tells him, and Clint grins down at him, sunlight through the leaves gilding his hair. "I also can't believe how beautiful you are," he adds, and Clint blushes, vanishing into the leaves and then landing on the lawn with a light thud. His suit is spotless, but the same can't be said for his shoes. They can be cleaned later, though. Now Phil just kisses him and takes his hand. They dispose of their remaining eggs on the way back to the house, and find their places at the huge, long table with everyone else.

Brunch is a real meal, because Grandmother insists on an enormous fresh ham on the bone, and it always takes most of the day. Clint is just the kind of brunch guest Mother and Grandmother like: hungry and very appreciative. He says 'please' and 'thank you' and politely passes dishes and it makes Phil more than a little sad that he has been so worried about behaving well enough.

The egg hunt is mild pandemonium as usual, and Phil takes his traditional place as general monitor, arbiter of disputes, and assistant to the little ones. Clint lurks nearby, and when little Gloria is the one to spot the egg in the tree, he scoops her up and holds her high enough to get it.

"There you go, kid. Got it?"

"Yeah! Thanks, Mr. Clint!" She hops down and runs off again, leaving Clint standing there looking amused and a little touched.

It takes a long time to collect all of the eggs, but at last everyone can return to the house to stash their candy and compare egg counts. Phil finds himself setting the table for dinner, which was always his chore as a child, and Susan swoops down on Clint to make him hold her precious baby. Clint looks kind of terrified, but he holds Angel May properly, and she gurgles up at him, patting at the tie in his pocket with chubby little hands.

"Hey, baby," he says softly. "I'm here with your Uncle Phil. Yes. Yes I am. That means I'm okay. Yes. Phil-approved stranger."

Angel May favors him with a wide, toothless grin, and Clint smiles back.

As usual, dinner is good enough to paralyze everyone. Father hauls the enormous ham out and sets it down, and Grandmother leads her usual Easter grace before Father starts carving and piling plates. The ham is nearly black on the outside, the fat crisp and studded with tiny pieces of dried apricot because Grandmother has never liked cloves. Everything else is good, but it's the ham that renders everyone spherical and helpless in its wake.

"Pork-based mind controllll," Clint moans, flopping onto their bed, and Phil laughs weakly, joining him.

"See?" They're both in shirtsleeves, but will have to get up and actually remove and store their clothes like real people. Phil is not looking forward to this.

"Yeah." Clint sighs. "You figure they're not having a family meeting about this young punk their loved one has foolishly gotten involved with?"

Phil yawns. "We'd hear the floor creaking in the parlor. And you're lovely and they like you." He yawns again. "And Nory would warn us."

"Okay." He rolls onto his side to nuzzle Phil's shoulder, and Phil shifts to put an arm around him and pull him close. They're leaving tomorrow morning and really should pack, but there's time yet. For now they doze, cuddling into each other's warmth in their light sleep.


End file.
